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Dek
Unu
Magazine
©Dek Unu Arts, 2020
Images:
©Christopher Paul Brown
Eleven
This is Dek Unu Magazine. In Esperanto, dek unu means "eleven."
Eleven images from a single artist. Eleven artists in eleven solo issues each
year.
Dek Unu publishes the work of a new photoartist in each issue. The artist's
work and words are featured alone and in individual focus as the sole
purpose for each issue of the magazine. Unlike other arts and letters
magazines which might look for work from a variety of artists to support an
editorial staff's theme, at Dek Unu, theme and imagery are always each
artist's own.
This Month
Multi-disciplinary artist, Christopher Paul Brown, is a photographer, film¬
maker, musician, and writer. He also practices “alchemy,” a process by which
he converts abandoned industrial sites in Chicagoland’s Fox River Valley to
the opposite. In his abstract images, the reds, browns, and greys of oxidized
metal, broken equipment, and weeds become blues, purples, greens and
golds. Solids become transparent. Positives morph into negatives. His
work is, according to him, play, and his artistic destinations are completely
unknown to him until they appear, by a kind of involute magic, on the screen
in front of him. Methods he developed as a performer and producer
of improvisational music and experimental film show up again in the ways he
inverts, reverses, separates, rephrases, combines, and transforms the parts
of his visual compositions. This is art in the moment, not the spawn of photo
history. This is not the staid and studied art of the academy; it is both antique
and contemporary. It is alchemy.
How does an abandoned Toastmaster factory become an otherworldly vision
of both the past and the future? Christopher Paul Brown shows us how.
Patient Ninja, Abandon, 2000-2011
Abandon can have positive connotations, such as, "She danced with abandon," or
negative, such as, "My father abandoned us when I was two." I like that about the
title. It gives it more mileage. All the objects on view here were abandoned. They
were abandoned from use, abandoned as trash and abandoned to the elements.
The land on which they were tossed was also abandoned. Formerly it was a
pristine forest (and source of food), or an orchard or a cow pasture. The land was
abandoned from use except as a depository of trash.
Along I came, with my newly mastered medium format camera (formerly a 35mm
aficionado). I became interested in creating a portfolio series centered on these
artifacts. I felt I knew the history of the region better than most, and I liked how
these artifacts supported that history. You could say that I pursued this project
with abandon. I trail-blazed and overcame ticks, mosquitoes, heat and humidity.
My responsibilities at the time were all collaborative in nature, so the solitude
of this project was invigorating. My goal was and is alchemy. I want these
abandoned, weathered artifacts, and their setting, to show you their inner beauty.
Two Holes, Abandon, 2000-2011
So what is alchemy? Likely you picture a medieval man laboring to transmute
lead into gold. If such a man succeeded, he likely took the secret to his grave.
Chemistry is pure process. If five different people make aspirin, the outcome will
be identical. In contrast, alchemy depends on the personal power of the person
overseeing the process. The lynchpin of modem science is experimentation that
can be replicated by other scientists; alchemists recognize that the success of
one alchemist is not necessarily tranferable to others.
My own interest in alchemy relates to Carl Jung and the surrealists. The idea of
gold hidden within a person or thing, and the use of alchemical polarities as a
means of releasing this higher energy, is the focus of this series, and of my art.
When you view these images, it is my intention that something interesting,
something opposite to trash, gains your attention. I have inverted the images.
This inversion of polarities is a metaphor for turning trash into beauty. We may
not notice the many shades of green surrounding us due to their almost constant
presence. These shades of green become just a background. In contrast, these
images' inverted colors are rare and capture your attention.
Broken Bird, Abandon, 2000-2011
"They grew up on a surreal frontier; suburbia kissing the edges of rural America.
As time passed , the not-so-distant big city expanded ’ its tentacles stretching and
fattening, turning farmland and woods into malls, intersections, and ironically-titled
residential housing tracts. As the foxes, deer, and magic fled this place they called
home, their sense of unease grew. Poised to leave, to find new reservoirs of
magic with which to ply their craft, they rediscovered an old and untainted source,
ana began hammering on moonlight."
- from the Random Touch CD, Hammering on Moonlight, copyright 2002
I have found pleasure in exploring abandoned areas. Abandoned sections of
gravel pits, 50 years on, are distinct, even exotic, ecosystems unto themselves.
They are short on topsoil but water and sand are plentiful. Even rusting metal has
a beauty, casting weather into the role of artist These external conditions mirror
the slow destructions and traumas every person suffers on this planet, and the
revivification of these environments reflects the recoveries many of us have
experienced. This is likely what draws me to alchemy. It fosters the confidence
that all that's damaged retains the spark of gold within.
Abandon, Abandon, 2000-2011
the dark and the hidden
our price of admission
to the mysterious
and the sublime
we surf the illusion
seeking freedom and fusion
adrift in a sea
we call mine
raised amidst our own sorrow
we toast the you tomorrow
that the sundered be whole
in due time
- from the Random Touch CD/DVD
The You Tomorrow, 2004
Metal, Canvas and Flowers, Abandon, 2000-2011
Let me tell you about numerology. Like astrology and palmistry, it reflects cycles,
archetypes, and other powerful features saturating ordinary life. I investigated
numerology a few decades ago. What I found stunned me. I learned that, based
on my birfndate, I was an eleven, which is considered a master number. The
master numbers are 11, 22 and 33. 11 is about illumination, 22 about the master
builder, and 33 about the avatar. The numbers continue with 44, 55, etc., but
birthdates go no higher than 33.
My music collaborator of 48 years passed away last year. We were also photog¬
raphy collaborators back in the 1980s. He, too, was an 11. In addition, he was
bom exactly 11 months before me. 11 permeated our lives. We both had phone
numbers that were 11s, social security numbers that were 11s and even master
number street addresses. In 1979, before we knew about numerology, we co¬
founded the experimental music group Random Touch , With its letters trans¬
formed into numbers, the word "random" translates into the number 11 and
"touch" translates into the number 22; so the name of our group is a 33, the
avatar. Numbers, frequency, and vibration are what lie below this manifested
world.
A*
In my early days as a photographer, I explored two techniques that still appeal to
me. One is motion blurring and the second selective focus, showing different
parts of an image in varying degrees of sharpness and blur. My early experiments
were analog, but I particularly like to abuse features on digital cameras. The digital
camera I had before my current camera was a Canon EOS 5D Mark III and I loved
to abuse its in-camera HDR feature. Almost all digital cameras can assemble a
middle exposure, an underexposure, and an overexposed image via algorithms to
make a single image showing an extended range ot lights ana darks. However,
the 5D Mark Ill's algorithms were unique and produced effects impossible to rep¬
licate with Photoshop. I would set the HDR mode and then move the camera
around as it clicked off the three pictures. I'd move it forward and back, to the
side, or rotate it up to 190 degrees or so. At first, I got mostly gobbledygook, but
I began to learn its mysterious ways and, finally, could get a good image about
20 or 25% of the time. My website, near the very bottom, has something called
"Practical Dubuque, 2015" which exhibits these outcomes.
Former Toastmaster Factory, Abandon, 2000-2011
“How wonderful thot we have met with a paradox. Now we have some hope of
making progress ." - Niels Bohr
I suspect that everything close to truth is paradoxical. Paradox also serves as an
aspect of mystery. For a long time, I saw polarity as a bar magnet - one extreme
pole on each end. Now I see it as a circle. The most sophisticated art can also be
the most primitive. I have delved into my unconscious, in part via the book
Initiation into Hermetics by Franz Bardon. My unconscious is still a trickster to
my conscious self, and my conscious self can be a trickster to my unconscious self,
but there has been some negotiation between the two. I believe we have agreed
to disagree, but that is progress of a sort, yes?
I am not sure there is any point to differentiating between the surprise, serendipity,
and synchronicity that arrives via the universe at large and that which arrives via
my unconscious. The universe and my unconscious may be two poles of the same
polarity. Astrology offers an apt comparison here: the planets don't drive human
behavior and human behavior doesn't drive the planets. One is the interior pole
and one the exterior pole. They are one polarity and dance to the same tune.
Thick Rusted Metal and Flora, Abandon, 2000-2011
"Ancient metalworkers had no need to understand the molecular and sub-molecular
complexities of their steel, bronze, copper, gold, and tin. They invented mystical powers
to describe the unknown, while they continued to operate their forges and wield their
hammers .'
- Frank Herbert, Heretics of Dune
I like to think that some of the work I do with alchemy and polarities will one day
be common practices and applied widely in society. I recognize that my uses are
primitive and raw; it's inevitable that such new territory would first appear in this
manner. One feature, however, that is vital to my work, is the incorporation of
mystery. The mystery of the mechanism by which good art is made seems vital,
as mystery is one of the most wonderful features of this world. It touches infinity
without and infinity within. Living with no mystery whatsoever would be like living
with perfect prophecy. With every moment predicted and expected, another key
positive feature of this world would be ruined: surprise. I spend much time
thinking about the mechanism of creation/discovery. I like to gain apt metaphors,
and rdlike to get better at art, but, if it were understood completely, then art as
we know it would end.
Broken Grave! Pit Train Loader, Abandon, 2000-2011
“The creation of something new is not accompanied by the intellect but by the instinct
acting from inner necessity ."
- Cart Jung
The intellect is incapable of invention or creation. It has many uses, but this is
not one of them. If we look back, beyond the history written by the victors, we
can see that most invention came about through the patient trial and error of
amateurs, and often by accident. What I call play is also trial and error. I will try
crazy things in Photoshop and they fail less often than might be expected.
Alchemy stacks the deck in my favor.
I never saw this broken gravel pit structure prior to photographing it around
2008. I had been exploring the three miles of this river valley, between the towns
of Algonquin and Carpentersville, for 45 years at that point. How could I overlook
it for so long? By following my instinct. I returned to the places I liked best again
and again. I knew there were areas I hadn't visited yet, but I viewed them as
money in the bank. My exploration was the opposite of rational. I treated my
exploration like an eight course meal; I never hurried to arrive at dessert.
Grave! Pit Structure, Abandon, 2000-2011
I have always been attracted to the old and the worn. As a kid, everything from
old buildings to fossils to ancient photos of my great-grandmother got my
attention. I am convinced that buildings and objects that persist over time,
surviving wear and tear, are not examples of random events. There is some kind
of energy, a sort of magic, that supports them. That magic translates into my
photographs. In addition, old things are terrifically unique. There is all the
energy that goes into making them originally, plus the energy of weather and
time to morph them into agedness, plus the energy that allows them to persist
and survive their morphing. The end result cannot be recreated in weeks or
months. I also enjoy the mystery of speculating... What was it for? What did it
originally look like?
Grocery Cart, Abandon, 2000-2011
There has been an interesting pattern with my photography that's caught my
attention. Again and again. I'll see buildings, a bridge, a tight collection of old
cottonwoods... familiar objects will have been torn down, fall down or be
removed after multiple photography shoots. Am I called to the place via intu¬
ition so that I can photograph them before they go away? Or is my energy/magic
theory correct and, by shooting them abundantly, I pull out the magic and leave
them without protection? All of the oldest metal artifacts, dumped near to the
water-powered factory (now revivified), disappeared in the late aughts. All that
remains are indentations in the ground. The area had come under the auspices
of the Forest Preserve District of Kane County many years earlier. They may have
seen the rusty metal as a liability risk, or they or their employees may nave sold
the scrap to the Chinese for profit. Of course, these events could be purely coin¬
cidental. In any event, I am glad to have photographed them in a timely fashion.
Hi, Christopher! You are a multi-disciplinary artist: music, film,
performance, photography.
I earned a BA in Film from Columbia College Chicago in 1980.
I taught myself still photography and darkroom techniques at the
same time. My first photo sale, to the collection of Standard Oil of
Indiana, was followed by a solo show and appearances in mag¬
azines and art exhibitions.
Christopher Paul Brown
After a long pause for parenting and work, I played in and pro¬
duced two bands, Random Touch and Bosch, and spent the next
11 years making experimental music and videos. We performed
live in the Chicago region and released 17 albums that saw radio
play on US college radio stations as well as stations in London and
Moscow. My videos appeared at South by Southwest, the New
York Video Festival at Lincoln Center, the Boston Underground
Video Festival, and many others, and my video, You Define Single
File, was nominated for the Golden Gate Award at the 47th San
Francisco International Film Festival.
During that time, my photography remained mostly a private artistic
pursuit. I bought a Mamiya medium format camera, moved into
color and exhibited very large, four-by-four-foot prints in 2008
and 2009. In 2013,1 began playing with digital photography and
decided to return to the sustained marketing of my photographs.
Since then, I’ve had numerous exhibitions, awards, and appear¬
ances in magazines, catalogs, and hard-cover books. In the last
three years, I have exhibited twice in Rome, Italy, and once in
Belgrade, Serbia. Ten images from my series Obscure Reveal
were shown in a museum in Florida.
Do you see a connection among your works in all the
different media you've used?
Everything I've done in art, video, and music has been based on
improvisation and the straddling of polar opposites such as
intent/openness, obscure/reveal and work/play. I expect surprise,
synchronicity, and serendipity to show up in the final result. I
have likened the work to alchemy, the process of revelation in
which an artist uses the power of polarities to connect to new
meanings.
I was exposed to this alchemical approach to making art via a
dozen LSD trips between 1971 and 1975. Where I had once
wished to work on the frontiers of science while pursuing art as a
hobby, the experience of LSD showed me that the real frontier of
our times is inner space and a deeper understanding of alchemy.
Abandon?
The title Abandon refers, of course to what happened to these
objects. However, "abandon" also refers to a lack of inhibition or
restraint. In my childhood, I had a one mile radius from my home
at my disposal, but the area where these images were made was
out-of-bounds by parental decree. We had to make sure we
entered the area unseen from any houses or cars. Later, as an
adult, my one, two, and three-hour safaris with my camera also
felt like a state of abandon. Where might I go this time? How
might I get there? What might I find? While I may have had
a time limit, for the duration of each trip it was just me, my
camera, and the hunt; the rest of the world fall away for a time.
Many of us treasure that sensation of freedom, timelessness,
and working in "the zone."
Yes, the zone. I lose myself there such that I sometimes don’t entirely
identify my work/play as my own. I see my hand in it, yet it also feels
like a discovery of something pre-existing. As it’s being created, I feel
more like a conduit or channel for energies beyond my ken. A trance¬
like state overcomes me, and all I know is that I’m in the flow. When I
improvise music with two other musicians, the process is exponential,
simply because three of us put out perhaps nine times the intention
Flaming Guitar
and openness of a single person. Almost always I entered a state
where I have no awareness of my part. I only hear the whole, and
my eyes may be closed. It’s like a train is roaring past me and I am
supporting its passage. Sometimes, but more rarely, I move a step
further into trance and I find myself in a play. I know my lines and my
actions, and those of the people around me. As we act out this play
the outcome is the music. I am like a vessel and the music is the
liquid pouring out of me. It’s like a lucid dream. Afterward, I
neither remember making the piece nor entirely recognize it as
my own. Art-making on my own is less dramatic, but I am still
overtaken by a trance-like dreaminess.
I come to art not just in the role of the alchemist, but also the
mystic. I have talked to star-beings, trees have told me how they
got the idea for veins, and I have altered the past. For those
who understand astrology, I have Jupiter and Uranus in the 12th
house, Pluto in the first house, 4 planets in water and none in
earth, and my Moon is in Pisces. I am built to make art. I
literally can’t help myself.
This project has lasted 11 years! Are there advantages or
disadvantages to long-term projects like this one?
Well, it certainly served a good purpose. From 2000 to 2012,1
produced, co-created and marketed 17 music albums, and from
2002 to 2007 I made a similar number of experimental videos.
These were each very collaborative affairs. The Abandon series
and other series from that time frame gave me quality alone time
in nature. I needed to get away from my computer and people
and make art by myself. Photographing several big projects
served these purposes grandly.
Keep in mind that I probably felt I had an Abandon series by
2005, but I just kept going out and finding more images to add to
the series. Given my other commitments, it moved forward
slowly at times, but I never wavered in my enjoyment and
excitement. A series on my computer may contain 20-something,
50-something, even 100-something images. When it comes time
to choose ten or fourteen for a gallery or eleven for Dek Unu, it’s
fun finding the right combination that works both singly and as
part of the whole.
Experimental art has friends and foes. How do you react to
people who "just don't get it?"
After digesting a periodical in which three of my works were pub¬
lished, a musician friend said he loved my work, that he really
enjoyed a lot of the writing, and while none of the other art was bad,
it differed from mine in one way. He said that when he looked at the
other art he felt it was saying, “Let me show you my imagination.”
Whereas looking at mine incited his imagination.
Everyone has different aesthetics. One person’s favorite color is
blue and another’s is yellow. I’m delighted that some people do like
my work, and I love these artifacts of my work/play, but I don’t
expect everyone to feel the same. One of my brothers and a close
friend both love much of my art but are disinterested in entire
subsets. That said, I feel a little irked when I suspect my art is
dismissed for ideological reasons. I’m thinking along the line of Tom
Wolfe’s The Painted Word here.
I have a theory about people having invisible antennae. I believe
that all thoughts and changes come from outside our world. Think
Plato’s cave, where the viewers of shadows are unaware of the fire
casting them. Think of the invention of calculus or manned flight. In
each case widely separated people invented these things indepen¬
dently and at the same time. I believe this is because the ideas of
calculus and manned flight were saturating the ether at each of
these times. But thoughts can only be picked up when the receiver
has the right antennae configuration. So what happens first is that
some of the people grow new antennae, and then the idea is
released. This minority with the new antennae get the idea, and a
subset of them begin acting on it, and a further subset succeed.
The same thing happens with art and music. What would a
contemporary of Bernini make of the work of Milton Avery or Helen
Frankenthaler? Likely they couldn’t make anything of it. They
wouldn’t have the antennae, so they wouldn't have the aesthetics
and certainly not the context. I suspect that over time more people
will have newly configured antennae and the consequent aesthetics
will allow them to grok not just my work, but many other new things.
Some say the most expensive art supply is time. How do you
balance family / art / real life commitments?
Family
I managed these poorly in the old days. Both my first and
second wives viewed my art and music as if they were my
mistresses. Since I am American and not French, this was a
problem. I have since solved it by divorcing twice and dating
infrequently. I do have five kids, and, until last year, the
youngest three were homeschooled. This meant a lot of driving
to tutors and classes around town, but this just served as a
break from the computer. When they were younger, we might,
on a Tuesday morning, watch Pee Wee's Playhouse for an hour
over breakfast. I would gladly forego a stretch at the computer
to hang with them and I have always been good at working for
just 20 minutes when the time arises. When possible I leave a
project at an attractive point, where the tedious setup is already
done. As a result, I can gleefully start my day with a cup of tea
and Photoshop, before even reading my email. It’s been easy
for me these past 19 years as I sold my equity in a private
company to a public company in 2000. I haven’t had a “day"
job since mid 2001.
There's a moment when both the shutter and photography
"click.” Do you remember making your first decent photo?
During winter break of my 77/78 college year, I bought a Contax
RTS 35mm camera and a Zeiss lens. I carried it everywhere and
shot a lot on the streets of Chicago’s loop. One day on Wabash I
shot out of a cab (or the el train - it was a while ago) and caught a
young man running. Later, with a loupe and the contact print, I saw
that part of his image was blurred with motion and that made the
image magic; all around him was a faithful, if black and white,
reproduction of the scene of the street, people, and a store. The
blur alone was something the everyday eye doesn’t encounter. I
hadn’t yet found Lartigue. I saw with that image that photography’s
limits were where its best assets lay, and I felt inspired to play and
dance around those limits. The image also confirmed that the
camera was right for me.
Do you remember the person who first steered you into the
arts? Other mentors or influences?
I remember vividly sitting in the fourth grade while the “art lady”
visited our class. She was a volunteer with an interest in art and
would arrive armed with 8” X 10” prints of famous artwork and
stories about the artists. The day she showed us a Wassily
Kandinsky was a revelation to me. It was like the world changed
and I could never go back to the previous normal. Subsequent
artists rocked me, but never so much as that day in class. I’ve
already given a shout out to Lartigue, but I particularly identify Milton
Avery, Georges Braque, Harry Partch, Theodor Geisel and Vincent
van Gogh as influences. The ones who trusted themselves, no
matter where their art took them, helped to show me the way.
Over the years, what have you found most satisfying about
this work?
My satisfaction comes from several sources. I adore when I am
surprised. I’ll try something unexpected and boom - it’s a home
run hit, and I didn’t see it coming. Marketing success is always
satisfying. These artifacts I discover/create all want to be seen,
so it feels good when someone wants to display them. Lastly, I
find satisfaction in the simple process of working on a piece of
art. This is the exact opposite pole to the unexpected surprise.
Many times I am working on something that will never see the
light of day, though I don’t yet know that. I am tweaking and
polishing and improving it, slow minute by slow minute, hopeful
it will emerge as something beyond the ordinary. Although
photo-manipulation is often slow, it is bliss when I find the same
non-stop, in-the-moment flow that I achieved through my work
in purely improvised music.
And the most difficult thing?
The most difficult feature of my work is my reliance on compu¬
ters. The endless upgrades to operating systems and the need
to access the internet mean that I have to buy new equipment
periodically and that entails reloading software and this often
means a diminished quality of software. Adobe continually
dumbs down Photoshop in order to appeal to casual users. I
use an old version, CS6, which is not officially supported. Lastly,
it’s a big job to keep my electronic file storage safe and backed
up. I’ve seen many disk failures; my 15 TB Drobo once failed on
its internal system, and I couldn’t get my files back for months
(Drobo customer support draws from the shallow end of the
pool). I moved out of the Chicago area in 2011 and no longer
have access to top-notch Apple computer gurus.
The biggest issue for me is the static quality of working on a
computer Ergonomically, it is inferior to the darkroom, music¬
making, and even video making. Only fiction writing is equally
static. This means that only in the morning can I go three or four
hours straight. After that, I seldom exceed two-hour increments.
Living, working, and sleeping in the same space means I often
have to get away in my car. Often I go to coffee shops and have
tea and visit with friends.
Artists are often out-spoken critics. Are you drawn to any
particular style or approach? Anything that turns you off?
Goodness, don't get me started!
What turns me off? The conflation of artistic photo-journalism with
art. Art as activism. Art as concept. Photography as separate
from art. Art as a Disneyland ride...
Among the most highly paid living artists, I like only David Hockney.
The rest strike me as imposters. In all this there are exceptions to
the rule, but the exceptions are akin to the suburban Ohio housewife
who has a monster casino win at the slots; these exceptions are
there to give the appearance that it is not a corrupt system.
We live in an upside-down world. The Hindus captured it well when
they identified the past 5,000 years as the Kali Yuga. They say this
period is identified by leaders who are the worst people for the job
(politicians, business people, bureaucrats, spiritual leaders, artists,
musicians, entertainers) and by everyone being a slave to their
tongue (gossip, opinions, food, drink, sex). Our society has replaced
the prominence of traditional religion with the hidden religion of
science. The mind, which at best is a disciplined servant, has been
raised to the status of master. We approach the unknowable not
through priests but via doctors and prostituting science researchers.
We conflate the income-generating novelties created by engineers
with lofty science.
In the arts, we teach everyone, from the blue-collar to the uber-
wealthy, that art is too arcane to be understood without
interpretation. In my view, words can describe 50% of the world
ordinarily. Poets may expand this to 55%. Yet we are told by
authorities that the world is comprehensible only through words.
Ambitious bureaucrats choose which artists gain access to the
middle tiers, and art advisors choose which artists achieve the upper
tiers. Both hang their methods on words instead of art.
Thanks, Chris. Great fun! How can we keep in touch?
I have work in "The Shape of Things” at Praxis Gallery, Min¬
neapolis, from October 24 to November 16.1 will be in the
November issue of Tatterhood Review and the Fall 2020
issue of Gasher Magazine will include six of my pieces
starting December 1. And I’m always at my links:
https://www.christopherpaulbrown.com/
https://christopherpaulbrown.blogspot.com/
Email inquiries: ch33 [at] runbox [dot] com
Christopher Paul Brown In Print
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